


Bet You Didn't See That Coming

by FancyMeetingYouHere



Category: GOT7
Genre: Crack, Jackson banter, Jackson got caught, M/M, Mark to the rescue, Markson banter, One-Shot, Spy - AU, a dildo is involved, but not in the way you think
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-14
Updated: 2020-12-14
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:47:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28077195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FancyMeetingYouHere/pseuds/FancyMeetingYouHere
Summary: Jackson's having a bad solo-mission and already knows the others will never let him forget this.Especially the giant, golden, glittery dildo.
Relationships: Mark Tuan/Jackson Wang
Comments: 15
Kudos: 59





	Bet You Didn't See That Coming

**Author's Note:**

> I have no excuse for this but I hope someone can maybe get a laugh from it.  
> Let me know what you think if you have the time!!
> 
> As always, enjoy!

Kneeling on a cold, stone floor with his hands handcuffed to a grate right beneath him is definitely not how Jackson's night was supposed to go. That's not even mentioning the black eye and busted lip, nor the wrenched shoulder and the, quite frankly, ugly ass motherfucker who gave him that list of ouchies. If they're going to capture a top spy, the least they can provide is a proper bad guy to pummel him. This one is missing his left ear and has nothing but crooked and yellowed teeth, his complexion hinting his mother smoked with him in the womb and simply stuck a cigarette in his mouth the moment he came out and left it at that. Jackson grins bloodied teeth at the mental image, giving his assailant a lazy stare as he ignores all the throbs on his upper body.

"You know there's a cure for your affliction," he rasps, nodding at the thick nose that's been broken too many times to probably still be useful, meaning this guy sucks in air through his mouth between punches and unintentionally whistles through a gap in his haphazardly arranged teeth. The man glares at him with dark eyes. Jackson grins wider.

"It's called death," he continues in his most jovial tone. "You should try it sometime."

Ugly bellows nothing understandable and counters with a sharp kick to Jackson's ribs. It snaps the breath out of him, pain sending fiery tendrils through his torso as he folds in on himself. His heart is a drumbeat in his ears and black spots dance in his vision, but as soon as air flows back in, at least some of his ribs bruised, he manages a gasp. "I could help you out if you want."

Another kick to his side this time, then a quick punch to his face.

The room spins as he breathes through the pain, gritting his teeth and digging his fingers into the grate below to have something to hold onto. He shoots an annoyed glare at the door visible on his right. What the hell is taking so long?

Just for show, he hacks a little, then spits out a pink glob. Everything is blurry and he decides to keep his head down. "Okay," he gasps, lungs and ribs beginning to protest simply being alive. "Okay, I get it. You just want your dildo back, right? I'm sorry, I shouldn't have taken it." He giggles to himself, bracing just in time for the fist that slams into his temple and knocks him on his side regardless. The room darkens before avid blinking brings back blurry shapes and Jackson lets out another breathless chuckle, cuffs beginning to dig into his wrists.

 _Finally_ the doors open, though it's not yet who he's been waiting for. He rolls his head on the floor to stare up at the newcomer's face, squinting until he can somewhat make out brown hair and what looks like a three-piece suit which would honestly be much more impressive if the clothes didn't look like they'd been fitted on someone much smaller. Jackson can see red socks with little candy-canes covering stick legs right in front of his face and grins anew as he rolls his eyes upward again. The face is still fuzzy.

"Cute socks," he can't help but say. "Your mom give you those?" Then, because Mark always tells him he talks too much even when Jackson informs him that's a strategy to keep the bad guys busy with all the wrong things, Jackson opens his mouth again. "Your mother work here too?"

Here being the brothel he'd been sent to investigate which turned out to be a brothel full of little girls who are so drugged up they often mistake the clientele for fluffy rainbows and unicorns. Which is why it was weird the whole place looked like a tiny palace, money swimming in every ornament and lavishly draped cloth, until Jackson stumbled on their little side-business of catering to officials and businessmen with _peculiar_ needs and the subsequent blackmail of said officials by means of video footage. Which is all conveniently gathered on a single flash drive. Which was hidden inside the giant, golden, _sparkling_ dildo standing between a silver and black counterpart on the head-honcho's desk. Which is what Jackson stole.

He stole a _dildo._

YugBam will never let him live and Mark will be _insufferable_. Though the man will be even more annoying about the fact an establishment which hides its most crucial information inside blown-up statues of the male sex organ managed to catch him in the first place. In all honesty, Jackson's feeling pretty salty about that himself.

The man with the candy-cane socks crouches, one hand nearing Jackson's face. He belatedly realizes that Socks is holding a knife. Whoops.

"She does not," a low voice greets him, devoid of any emotion. "She's been dead for quite some time, but if she were here, she would urge me to cut out your tongue for such a comment."

Double whoops.

The man continues, still mostly fuzzy as Jackson squints at him. "But considering I need your tongue to tell me where you stashed my information, I'll take your dick instead."

The hand moves sideways, knife going with it, and Jackson immediately covers his privates with his hands. "Dude," he hisses. "Not the way to make a friend out of me!"

A strong hand grabs his and yanks them aside, Ugly joining the struggle. Jackson tries to kick him. He fails.

"You really outta think twice about this!" He yells, a little bit desperate as he flicks another glance at the door. "This a horrible first impression!"

He finally catches Ugly square in his face with a boot and the man gurgles, releasing Jackson's hands.

"Stay fucking still!" Socks screams, wrestling with the zipper of Jackson's jeans and really, this is just humiliating on so many levels. The man is practically groping Jackson through his pants.

"This is highly inappropriate," Jackson hisses in return, their world narrowed down to an insane game of thumb wrestling, even the knife lying semi-forgotten on the floor. "I don't even know your name," Jackson pants, "and I can barely see your face. I'm honestly feeling very violated and would like to file a complaint with your manager! This is _not_ the proper torture I was promised!"

Socks bellows, one fist shooting out and glancing off Jackson's jaw. The impact slams his head into the floor once again, pain exploding on his temple and a sudden wave of nausea crashes over him. The black spots are back and bigger than before, dancing merrily through his limited view of the room. Hands pull on his waistband.

"Don't," he slurs, blinking into nothing and no longer possessing the coordination to fight the assault. He glares balefully at where he guesses Socks' head is. "'m trying to save you." He huffs, closing his eyes against the pounding in his skull.

Socks lets out a cold laugh, a scraping sound announcing he's picked the knife back up. "From what?" He asks with a hint of contempt. "Your hideous dick?"

"Rude," Jackson mumbles, eyes opening to slits when the man tugs on his boxers. "You can't express judgement without even seeing it."

Cold air hits the crown jewels and Jackson is tempted to ask for a second opinion. He has it on very good authority that his dick is magnificent, thank you very much. He glares at the door again, beginning to suspect they're just laughing at him from the other side with some sort of hidden camera. "Hurry up," he groans, wrists throbbing and junk cooling down.

"Excuse me?" Socks splutters. In his defense, he is a bit out of the loop.

"Not you," Jackson sighs. "You just take it easy. I'm sure someone will come in to blow your head off in due time."

Which is proven by the door slamming open, a figure in all black, with high-ankle boots that hold blood-red shoelaces, barging in with their gun trained perfectly to do as Jackson predicted. The scene freezes, Socks no doubt gaping in shock at the sudden intrusion, and Jackson feels a little sorry for him. Poor guy just wanted his dildo back.

The seconds stretch, however, and Jackson becomes suspicious. He forces his wavering focus to give him more than general colors and is at least eighty percent sure the face hiding under that black cap is Mark's. That and the boots. "M'rk?" he slurs, dropping his head when his concussion protests. "That you?"

"Jackson," Mark acknowledges in that low and professional tone that makes all the tension seep out of Jackson's muscles. His other half is here to fix the epic mess and hopefully pull up Jackson's pants.

... _wait a second_

Jackson squints up again, wishing he could see the expression on his boyfriend's face so he'd know how screwed he is. "'Snot what it looks like," he hurries to say, squirming a little to cover his parts with his hands again. The warmth feels nice.

Mark inhales audibly, then exhales even more audibly. "Only you, Jack," he eventually says with a hint of exasperation. Then. "You, drop the knife."

Jackson knows he's talking to Socks, if not for the directive than because that's mean-Mark's voice.

Socks, stupidly, does not follow the command. His blob of a face swims in Jackson's peripheral and there's a sneer in his voice. "You really think you'll ever make it out of here? My men will-"

"Your men will not do much of anything," Mark interrupts in that same tone, "because they're dead. Drop the knife, or join them."

"I'd do what he says," Jackson points out conversationally, eyes at half-mast again and gazing with a lazy grin at Socks. "Mark isn't the best at patience."

Even with his limited vision Jackson can see Socks stiffen at that.

"Jackson, Mark," the man whispers to himself, then louder and with considerably more fear. "Jackson Wang? M-Mark Tuan?" He breathes as if too afraid to say the words. "...from GOT7?"

The knife clatters to the grate, Socks shooting his hands up as if the higher he'll get them, the higher his infinitesimal chances of survival will be.

"I'm sorry," Socks squeaks, his voice an octave higher. "I didn't know, I swear!"

Jackson peers at him, wheels turning slowly in his concussed mind. "What are you doing?"

"Is it clear now?" Mark waltzes over him, gun still out.

Socks scoots back until he hits the wall, letting out a string of 'yes'.

"Good," Mark nods, then holsters his weapon. Jackson feels cheated. "Hey," he whines, glaring as best he can at his boyfriend. "I promised him someone would blow his brains out. Don't make me a liar."

Suddenly Mark is right in front of him, a warm, careful hand on Jackson's cheek and the hint of dark eyes. Even tied up and hurting, Jackson smiles at that.

"Sorry," Mark says over his shoulder, "but I'm not going to kill you. I need one guy alive to tell the story."

Jackson glares at him, petulantly. "You always do this."

Mark grins and this time Jackson can see it clearly even though lines are still blurred. "It always works," Mark tells the room.

In an impressive show of speed, Mark jumps up and whacks Socks in his face with a foot. The suit slumps down and stays down.

"Show-off," Jackson mutters.

Mark snorts, crouching back down and finally giving Jackson his decency back. Blessed warmth. Then a careful hand prods at his head, twin, dark pools of worry staring at him from close enough Jackson can almost make them out clearly. "How bad?" Mark breathes.

Jackson grins weakly, his grip on reality slipping as the exhaustion seeps in. "Not that bad," he promises.

"That's what you said in Congo," Mark answers dryly, moving away to undo the cuffs. " _And_ in Germany. _And_ in Hong Kong. _And-_ "

"Fine," Jackson huffs, closing his eyes as the room is doing slow spins. "Concussion. Some bruises." Then. "Did you get the package I sent you?"

Mark snorts, the sound loud enough Jackson sends him an annoyed though blurry glare.

"Yeah, Jacks," Mark says in the voice he uses when someone is being both extremely dumb and extremely hilarious at the same time. "I got the giant _golden_ dildo that you sent me." His voice goes dry. "Jinyoung felt compelled to warn me of the dangers of using one of that size before we realized it was part of a job. One of _yours._ " He gently flicks Jackson's forehead, done with the cuffs. "Next time, maybe add a note."

Now Jackson grins fully, peeking at Mark's exasperated expression. "Where would be the fun in that?"

"Only you," Mark huffs, a fondness in his voice that's only ever reserved for Jackson. "Only you, Jacks."

(And yeah, Mark _is_ insufferable and YugBam find many opportune, and inopportune, moments to bring it up. But really, it was a giant, golden dildo! How was Jackson _not_ supposed to do that?)


End file.
